


The Book of Life

by spikesgirl58



Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:17:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya reads Napoleon as only Illya can.</p><p>this was originally published in MFU 100 as a drabble, but this is expanded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Book of Life

Napoleon sleepily opened an eye, goose bumps following from the scrape of Illya’s fingernail.  The night had been warm, but now their bedroom was cool.  He smiled at the familiarity of Illya’s touch.  The nails were rough, torn ragged from a frantic climb up a rock face, yet somehow that made the feeling more sensual.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  Napoleon murmured, unwilling to completely release his hold on sleep.  Their last mission had been long, involved, and troubling.  There were memories that Napoleon would carry with him for a long time before being able to free himself of them.  
  
“Nothing is wrong.  I couldn’t sleep, so I was just reading.”  Illya’s fingers changed direction and now the tips replaced the nails.  
  
“Reading what?”  He could feel Illya’s breath on his skin and shuddered.  Yet he remained still, allowing Illya full access to him.   
  
“You.  You are my favorite manuscript, Napoleon.  On your body I can read your passion and your caring.  I see your strengths and your weaknesses and your joy for life.  I can read of your adventures in life as they were played out across your skin.”  
  
“For example?”  
  
Illya’s finger skated down a long thin scar.  “You got this saving a young boy.  Courageous but impetuous.”   Illya’s lips kissed a gnarled bit of raised skin tissue.  “This bullet wound you got trying to protect that idiot Sully.” 

 

“It ended well, at least.”

 

“It did, but only because you are inherently very lucky.  A fraction of an inch one way or the other and you might have lost the use of that shoulder.”  Illya nuzzled the scar.  “What would I have done then with all my free time?”

 

“I’d have come up with something.”

 

“I would hope so.”  Illya’s mouth moved lower, to a barely visible line.  “And here Shark’s men left their mark.”

 

“Not so different from yours.”

 

“Which is why I am mindful of them.  I know what you experienced and yet you dressed and danced in attendance to him.”

 

“It didn’t mean I liked it.”  Napoleon rolled slowly, letting Illya move to accommodate him.

 

“And what do you like?”  Illya’s fingers trailed across Napoleon’s chest.  His mouth followed.

 

“I like you.”  Napoleon’s eyes drifted shut, lost in the sensations Illya was creating

 

“I’m very glad, considering our current position.  Any less would be… awkward.”   
  
Napoleon tilted his head back, inviting the caress of Illya’s tongue.  Napoleon felt Illya’s hand, splayed across his stomach, pressing him back against the sheets.  “Very well, partner.  Then read to me.”

 

“I will.”  Illya’s fingers were on the move again.  “Once upon a time there was a devilishly handsome and somewhat prone to mischief young prince.”

 

“Anyone I know?”

 

“Hmm, possibly.”  A fingernail traced a thin line of scar tissue.  “He would frequently go off on adventures.  Thankfully, he had a friend --”

 

“A special friend,” Napoleon corrected and Illya placed a finger on Napoleon’s lips.

 

“Shh, don’t interrupt the storyteller.  So the prince and his special friend would go out into the world.  They would see fantastic and wondrous things.”  Illya ran his palm over Napoleon’s chest and he sighed.  His nipples come erect at the rough feel of Illya’s skin dragging across them.  “They would climb mountains.”  His hand dipped down into the hollow of Napoleon’s stomach before dropping to comb through Napoleon’s pubic hair.  “Cross valleys and make their way through massive forests.” 

  
Napoleon smiled down at him.  “So, tell me, oh, storyteller, how does this story end?”  
  
Illya’s hand found a special spot, squeezing and stroking simultaneously.  “Together, if we are lucky and only after many more chapters have been added to this book.”

 

“Then, by all means, let’s add another chapter.  And, Illya?”

 

“Yes, Napoleon?”

 

“Write slowly.”

 

“With infinite, care, and my soul.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
